


What The Sun Can Bring

by slightlyjillian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, complicated friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Highschool AU. None of his friends have normal families, but Nichol really wishes he understood his relationship to Sylvia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What The Sun Can Bring

**Author's Note:**

> I kept picturing Sarah from _Chuck_ while writing Sylvia... that might explain this weird story-thing.

"Good morning," Sylvia said. Her hair was piled in a terrible mess of a pony tail, the stripes on her underwear and tank top clashed and she had a spot of toothpaste on her cheek. She had opened his door with nothing more than her mumbled greeting and gone over to his sock drawer.

"No," he complained, pulling the comforter over his head. Nichol's relation to Sylvia was by means of his mother's husband's daughter. That did not make her his sister. That did not make her... he paused over the words that came to mind and tried to find something appropriate... that did not make _her appendages_ related to him. So he should not see them, even when thinly clothed.

He tried to imagine the last inning of the baseball game from the night before. He squeezed his eyes closed and somehow started into a dream where he was at-bat in his boxers.

"Don't sleep forever. Don't forget Trowa and Catherine are coming over," she said. Then he heard the door close.

He dropped his arms that had been defensively covering his head. The sheets fell away and he stared at the ceiling. Then his mother had to keep the company she'd inherited from his, deceased, father and go on business trips for weeks, months, full quarters of the year... leaving Nichol in the care of the housekeeper and Sylvia's father when he came around. Marshall Noventa used as many air miles as Nichol's mother and they typically arranged to meet each other in exotic cities. The situation was all too _romantic_.

Nichol tried to block it from his thoughts too by staring at his dresser. The drawer was still open and a piece of red material hung from the corner.

Then a thought occurred to him.

Charging down the hallway like a loosed bull, Nichol roared, "What did you take?"

***

Sylvia had stretched his baseball socks until they were up to her knees. The pair she abducted was right out of the package white with blue stripes along the calves. She smiled at him from where she'd snuggled into the corner of the couch, knees pulled up and cradling a drink of something so hot Nichol could see the steam.

Nichol sat in the chair that looked out into the rolling hills of their back yard. He could see little white puffs on the green which had to be sheep. He still wasn't used to living near sheep. Or in a house big enough that he could get out of breath chasing his... step-sister... down toward the large open space they'd furnished as a family room.

"Good game last night," she said. The pony tail had been adjusted. Now more of it was in the tie, but her face was still covered by excess fringe that refused to be captured. She'd cut it recently.

He scowled at her. Most people would have been appalled. Sylvia was the sort everyone _liked_ and considered adorable and beyond doing wrong. She did have a pink alarm clock in her room. But that was about the end of her giggles. Nichol knew that she spent hours studying from heavy texts that might weigh more than her brain, but just barely. She also liked to steal things. But that didn't keep people who saw her from the outside from thinking she was an angel.

Nichol sort of liked knowing something about her that other people didn't.

***

"Ready for this project?" Trowa grinned from the doorway. Nichol considered injuring the lanky bastard, then stepped aside to let Trowa and Catherine inside.

Technically, Trowa _was_ a bastard so Nichol _could_ call Trowa as much except that halved the impact of the insult. Typically, when used at him, Trowa burst into a rather manic, entertained laugh.

The strange thing was that after finding out that he'd fathered a son outside of his marriage that Mr. Bloom hired a detective to track down the boy and made arrangements to have Trowa Barton, he'd been living with his mother for several years and decided to keep the name, stay at the Bloom ranch.

Perhaps it had been the separation during their early formative years, but Catherine and Trowa had the weirdest sibling relationship--more protective and companionable than any other that Nichol had seen. Even his and Sylvia's.

Except they weren't even related by _half_.

***

Catherine had accepted Sylvia's offer for more tea and they took espresso orders. Sylvia liked to use the equipment but failed magnificently at making a latte that didn't make your eyes pop at the first sip.

"Did you sleep with her yet?" Trowa asked lazily. He thumbed through a science magazine he'd found under the coffee table.

Nichol had no words. His mouth flopped, unhinged.

"She's wearing your socks."

***

The coffee mugs were set out on decorative plates that Sylvia had made at local shop that taught lessons. Nichol sniffed his, decided he couldn't humor Sylvia anymore that morning, and then went into the kitchen to find his French press.

He nearly dropped to the floor when he found a stranger sitting on the counter casually eating icecream from the carton with a spoon.

"Yo," said the man. The unexpected comment completely contradicted the movie star good looks and wispy white blonde hair that fell around his shoulders.

"Hey, hey... hi." Nichol might have said something like that. He turned around and completely forgot about the French press.

He stood next to his chair while the other three easily conversed in lilting, enthusiastic tones. Sylvia's eyes darted over at Nichol when she took her next sip of tea. Then she said, "Did you meet my boyfriend?"

***

His name was Milliardo and his family was foreign but had sent their son to study at the local University which meant that he was _older_ than the rest of them. Even Nichol who was graduating that year. Surprisingly, Nichol's hatred for the man was overshadowed by the Catherine and Trowa disapproval.

"So, what are you studying?" Catherine interrogated, her eyes throwing daggers at the man who'd squeezed into the seat next to Sylvia and had draped his arm over her shoulders.

"The philosophy of warfare." Even the man's ridiculous voice was sexy. Nichol scratched his cheek and realized he probably should have shaved. Not that it would let him compete with the brilliance that was the heir to the Peacecraft millions. Not that he was competing.

Trowa drank Sylvia's espresso without raising a hair on his head. Most times, the brat looked like he'd gracefully relaxed from one posture to the next. Occasionally the caffeine took Trowa to strange places, but only late at night when the boys were playing video games and Trowa insisted on using Nichol's shoulder as a cushion for Trowa's weary head.

They kept it mellow with caffeine after Nichol and Trowa had gotten drunk the one time, before his mother got wise and let Marshall Noventa know he might want to get better security on his liquor cabinet.

"He's not helping us with our project is he?" This question Catherine directed at Sylvia. They were in the same class. Then Trowa had skipped ahead which put the three of them in the same levels. Nichol sat in because he'd had Mr. Harrison for the same class and two years hadn't changed that much.

"I've got... something to do," Nichol excused himself.

***

Outside, Nichol walked the circle drive toward the gate. He took his time keeping to the circumference even though a stone walkway split the garden for a direct route.

At some point, Trowa had followed him out. The other boy made a hissing noise then skipped up from the drive into the grass. He hadn't put his shoes on and was avoiding the pebbles.

"I don't think she means _boyfriend_ when she says boyfriend," Trowa stated as if they'd been having a conversation.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Nichol put a swing into his arms which kept his voice light even through the strain in his neck.

The mailbox was empty. Nichol walked back feeling particularly stupid for having nothing to show for the effort. He abandoned the study group and called his best friend.

"Bring the motorcycle," he said.

***

"Yeah, I know Milliardo. He's pretty cool." Philip Walker didn't mind letting Nichol ride the bike with him.

"Cool?" Nichol shouted over the wind. He'd gotten over the strangeness of riding like a girl. Moreso because Walker had recently suggested that they switch on the way back from the lake.

The sun kept creeping ahead to midday and while the wind was chill, the light pleasantly warmed the skin.

"It takes a while to get to know him. Years maybe. I went to some of the same camps he did during the summer. He's got a way of getting people to do what he wants them to do."

Nichol thought about Sylvia and wondered what she wanted to do.

They got to the lake and tried skipping stones. Then Walker had become bored with losing to Nichol and set about climbing a tree. Walker lived with his mom in an apartment in the nearby city. He'd saved up for and practically rebuilt the motorcycle they'd used for transportation. Walker had an easy going way of looking at things, but the dedication he had to that bike brought out his determination.

He'd been just as determined that he and Nichol figure out how to be friends. Nichol figured he wasn't the easiest person to get along with (he didn't understand himself half the time) and he'd keep Walker as long as he could. Even if he did have to sit in the back most rides.

Nichol shielded his eyes and stared up to where Walker had gone.

He decided, _I don't know who I am, and that's fine._

***

When the work on the project finished, Trowa sent Nichol a text letting him know they were disbanding. Nichol decided he owed Trowa some underage alcohol... as soon as Nichol was twenty-one anyway.

"Don't be a woman," Nichol had grumbled one time, but Walker still rested his chest against Nichol's back and might have made a noise something like a purr.

When they got within a block of the Noventa estate, Nichol elbowed Walker into full wakefulness and mumbled, "Thanks."

"No problem," Walker flashed a cheerful grin. "Good day to waste time."

"I'm a waste of time," Nichol repeated with mock-hostility. Walker's grin stretched wider then he saluted before kicking off down the road.

***

Nichol had gone into the house through the garage. All the cars were still there, which didn't mean much except Sylvia hadn't gone out. With both their parents gallivanting across the skies, it wasn't unusual to see every vehicle in its place.

It also meant that Milliardo had left too.

"You're back." Sylvia still wore his socks except one had drooped somewhat.

"You can keep those," Nichol said. He shrugged then slouched, trying to get past her and further into the house.

For a moment he imagined her kicking her leg out, putting her hands on her hips and saying something like _stop right there_. And her lips would pout under a playful, piercing stare.

He wanted to say, "I see through you." But she disappointed him and he got by as he would if she were sweet, demure Sylvia.

Halfway down the hall he heard her shout, "We're not blood related."

"Damn," Nichol whispered, shaking his head. She'd slip up and show that in public sometime. He just wanted to see it.


End file.
